Visci (Soul Cavern Series Book 2)

by Venessa Giunta

  “They’re a group called the Visci. They’re… Okay, you’re not going to want to believe this, but you wanted the truth. Are you sure you want this?”

  “Yes,” Sara said, without hesitation. “I want to know.”

  Mecca sighed. “Okay. They’re not vampires, but they seem to be like vampires. They drink blood, and it somehow keeps them alive. They’re super strong”—the memory of Claude lifting her without so much as a bead of sweat came back to her—“but I don’t know a whole lot more beyond that.” She looked at Will sidelong. “That’s going to change soon.”

  “And why did they take you?” Sara’s clear eyes watched her with interest.

  Mecca thought about that for a longer time than she intended. “That isn’t something I am ready to share with you.” When Sara began to speak, she raised a hand. “Because it’s very personal for me, and I don’t even know you. So I’m not going to tell you that right now. I may share it with you in the future if I come to trust you. But right now…” She shrugged. “If that means we can’t stay here, then we can’t stay here.” She hoped she was playing this right. She wasn’t lying. But she really hoped her guess that Sara would accept her reason was spot on.

  The other young woman stared at her with suspicious eyes. She gave a small nod. “Okay, for now. Let’s hear the rest, and I’ll decide.”

  Mecca hoped that was a good sign.

  “Why did you go back?” Sara asked. “I’ve been asking myself that question ever since it happened. Was it to rescue those people?”

  Mecca shook her head. “I didn’t even know they were there. That whole maze thing? That was crazy. I literally had no clue any of that was out there. Somehow, I’d missed the entire thing when I escaped.”

  Sara nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  “I went back because I was stupid. I thought I could end things by myself. I thought they’d never expect me to come back, so I could sneak in and have the upper hand.” Mecca shook her head. “It was really, really stupid.”

  “I never understood why your dad didn’t call the police.”

  Will finally chose this moment to jump in. “The police wouldn’t help. They’d have come to the gate, been told everything was fine, and left.”

  “Even with a kidnapping?”

  Will gave a soft snort. “If the officers who came to the gate tried to press, they’d have gotten an order from a superior sending them off. Calling them wouldn’t have helped Mecca at all.”

  Will’s words brought Sara’s attention squarely to him. “And how do you figure in to this?”

  “I was one of her captors.” Will’s simple explanation surprised Mecca. She hadn’t thought he’d say anything at all.

  Sara leaned away from him, surprised. “So you’re one of these Visci?”

  “No, but I was with them for a long time. Something of a prisoner. A trusted one, but still a prisoner.” His voice, soft and matter-of-fact, made Mecca admire his self-control. He wasn’t emotional about any of this.

  “And you escaped with Mecca?”

  “Something like that.”

  Sara looked back at her. “And your dad won’t let you stay with him?”

  “I told you,” Mecca said. “I don’t want to stay with him.”

  “Yeah.” Sara looked thoughtful. Finally, she said, “All right. You can stay. But whatever it is you guys are up to, I want in.”

  That was not something Mecca wanted to hear. “What do you mean?”

  Sara rolled her eyes and stood up. “I’m not an idiot. There’s something going on. The things I did for your dad to help get you out are not things that happen if nothing is going on.” She glanced at Will and back to Mecca. “And my guess is that whatever was going on then is still going on now. Maybe a bit different, but still going on.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And I want in.”

  How had her dad put Sara off? She was absolutely determined. Mecca looked at Will. He only shrugged. She frowned at him.

  “She wants in. I say let her in.” To Sara, he said, “How are you with killing people?”

  Mecca stared at him. What the hell was he doing? “Will…”

  Will put his hand up and continued to address Sara, who also stared at him. “Because that’s what the plan is right now, to kill any Visci we identify. That’s regardless of whether the Visci is good or bad. We’re killing them all.”

  So that’s how it is. “You’re doing this now?” Mecca said, turning to face him. “Here? You couldn’t brought this up privately?”

  Now Will looked at her and Mecca, for the first time, fully felt their age difference. He was decades older than her, no matter how young he looked.

  “I tried to speak in private, but you have been dead set against talking about it. If Sara wants in, I want to make sure she knows what she’s actually getting into.”

  Mecca hated the feeling of needing to defend herself that welled up. “Fine. Sara, there are no good Visci. They all feed from human beings to stay alive, period. So they’re all a danger.”

  “Every living thing eats other living things, including humans,” Will said. “And you know at least two who are good.”

  Mecca was vaguely aware that Sara had dropped back into her chair, watching them, but she didn’t care. How could he be arguing with her like this? He’d been held captive for ages!

  “Why are you defending them?” she almost shouted. “How can you be defending them?”

  “I’m not defending them, Mecca.” His calm, level response only made her angrier. “I’m trying to tell you that they’re not all like Emilia. You already know that though. I’m not sure why you’re so intent on ignoring it.”

  “I’m ignoring it because I can,” Mecca said, crossing her arms over her chest. Her tone sounded petulant, and she hated that.

  “So you’re going to kill her?” Will asked, his gaze still on her.

  Why was he doing this? And in front of Sara!

  “You promised you’d help me.”

  “I did. And I will. But you’re painting all of them as evil, and they are no more or less evil than we are. Each one is their own person.”

  Heat burned Mecca’s cheeks. In truth, it burned through her entire body. She wanted to leave. Wanted to slam through the door and disappear.

  But where would she go? Back to the dorm?

  And how would she hunt Visci?

  “So,” she said, “what are you saying?”

  Will shook his head and sighed. “I’m only saying that you are coming at this without thinking. You want to be judge and executioner.” His face softened now, as did his tone. “I am afraid of what being judge and executioner will do to you.”

  She knew what it would do. It would make her feel amazing for ridding the world of the Visci stench. But he obviously didn’t want to consider that.

  “Fine. What are you asking?”

  His shoulders lifted. “I don’t know. Only not to be so quick to decide who is worthy and who isn’t, just by sight.”

  “Okay.” If that was what he needed her to agree to in order to keep him on board, then that is what she’d agree to.

  His gaze didn’t waver, but he also didn’t respond right away.

  If Sara felt uncomfortable, she didn’t show it. She sat, leaned back on the chair, watching them. It made Mecca uncomfortable to be on display like that.

  Will finally gave her a nod. “All right. I feel as though you agreed to that entirely too quickly, but I will take you at your word.”

  When neither of them spoke again, Sara said, “Well, that was interesting.” Her broad grin showed no malice. Mecca wasn’t sure what sort of unicorn-fairyland Sara lived in, because she never seemed upset or angry.

  Mecca was tired of being the center of attention. It was her turn to ask questions. “How do you know my dad? It’s weird, him ‘hanging out’ with someone our age.”

  “He was married to my gran before she died.” Sara shrugged, as if it were no big deal.

  Bells rang i
n Mecca’s head. She’d learned of her dad’s previous wives while in captivity. Emilia had left files of information for Mecca to read in the periods when they’d allowed her to be awake. She’d discovered his horrible secret while chained to a bed.

  “Your gran?” Mecca asked. “Grandmother?”

  Sara nodded. “My mom was a kid when she died, and Dav—your dad made sure she was provided for. He still sends her checks every month.” She looked around the living room. “That’s how I have this. She put all the money away for me for college.”

  Mecca followed Sara’s gaze around the room, but only heard her through a funnel. She looked back at the pretty young woman with the short-cropped curly hair that was sticking up everywhere. “What’s your last name?”

  “Harrington. Why? Did he mention me?”

  Susan Harrington. The woman her dad had been married to before her own mom. The last woman he’d killed.

  How could he be friends with the granddaughter of a woman he murdered? Her head spun, and she couldn’t think clearly. She pulled in a deep breath to try to clear it.

  “Mecca?” Will put a hand on her forearm.

  It brought her back to herself. She shook her head. “Sorry. Sorry.” She looked at Sara, who had a mixed expression on her face: concern and hope. “I was trying to work out whether I’d heard that name before, but I don’t think I have.”

  Sara tilted her head. “It didn’t seem like you haven’t heard it before.”

  Mecca smiled and hoped it looked reassuring. “That was my thinking face. It looks funny to people who are not me.”

  Sara didn’t look convinced but didn’t pursue it. “Well, there’s only one spare room, so you’ll have to share it or one of you can sleep here on the sofa. Don’t go in the basement unless I invite you down.” Her face went serious. “That’s a hard rule. Understand?”

  They both nodded almost in unison.

  “Thank you, Sara. I know this is weird,” Mecca said.

  Sara stood and gave her a brilliant smile. “This has been weird since I met your dad. Good thing I like weird.”

  Chapter Seventeen: Jenny

  Jenny parked in the same spot she had when she’d first come to Helen’s place. Jorge’s small pickup truck sat in the driveway, and he was taking the porch steps in one bound.

  Jenny got out of her car and hurried over, right as Jorge was unlocking the door. He met her eyes, looking grim.

  They tumbled into the house together.

  Everything looked perfect, just as it had been the first time she’d been here. The silence deafened her though.

  “Helen?” Jorge called, cutting through the quiet.

  “If she texts me asking me where the hell I am, I’m gonna feel stupid,” Jenny whispered.

  Jorge began moving through the downstairs, occasionally calling Helen’s name. They found nothing.

  “I have a terrible feeling,” Jorge said as they mounted the stairs.

  “Me too.”

  Helen’s bedroom was decorated in pale yellow and dark blue. A high queen-size bed took up one wall, and a natural wood armoire graced another wall. The thick carpet underfoot dampened their steps. The room was immaculate.

  To Jenny’s right, the bathroom door sat ajar. Something tiny and square and black lay on the floor just inside.

  “Hey.” She still whispered but had no idea why. No one was here. She went to the door as Jorge turned to her.

  Jenny picked up a small plastic fob with what looked like a red button. It’d been smashed. She turned it over in her hand.

  “Shit.” Jorge came behind her. When she glanced back, she saw him looking into the bathroom over her shoulder. Then she looked up.

  The room looked like a tornado had come through. A towel rack hung halfway off the wall, the coral towels in a heap beneath it. The shower curtain had been torn down, exposing a giant jetted tub. On the counter, a stoneware bathroom set lay strewn, the lotion dispenser cracked and oozing pearly white liquid onto the granite countertop.

  “Shit,” Jenny echoed quietly, the plastic in her hand forgotten.

  Jorge snatched it from her. “Oh no. Where did you get that?”

  “It was on the floor. What is it?”

  “Shit, shit, shit!” The forlorn look on his face scared her more than the disaster in the bathroom.

  “Jorge! What is it?”

  He reached into his collar and pulled out a corded necklace. On the end hung a plastic piece just like what she’d found, except his was intact.

  “It’s a panic button. Once we realized people were disappearing with regularity, Zoey set each of us up with one. If we hit it, it sends a text out to all our phones with our GPS coordinates.” He looked around the room. “She must have been in the shower when they came. Maybe it was on the counter.”

  That would explain how it was shattered on the floor.

  “I don’t understand though,” Jenny said. “Is she one of the ones who disappeared? Or was she taken because of what we are doing?” What were they doing?

  Jorge shook his head. “She’s a full, so…”

  When he didn’t finish, she followed that thought. The fulls who disappeared were never found. Always women.

  She looked at him. “What do we do?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going to text Zoey. I’m hoping she can trace Helen’s phone.”

  “We should call the police.”

  He brought his gaze up from his phone. “Really? Because they’ve cared about every other missing Visci woman?”

  Jenny bristled under his sarcastic tone. “But Helen was one of their own, in a way.”

  “I don’t think it works that way,” he said as he looked back to his text. “But if you really think that will make any difference, we can make an anonymous call after we leave.”

  That made sense. If a powerful Visci ran the police—she was beginning to be paranoid enough to think they ran everything now—then she and Jorge couldn’t be there when the cops arrived. If Helen were targeted like the other Visci women, it wouldn’t matter. But if she were targeted because of the questions she was raising about the disappearances, she wouldn’t want them to risk being captured too.

  They went back downstairs, and Jorge made a stop in the back of the house. When he returned, the laptop they’d used to call Arabella was tucked under his arm.

  “We don’t need them finding this,” he said. “There probably isn’t anything on it. Helen was good about that. But it’s better to be safe.”

  Jenny nodded.

  “Zoey texted. Helen’s phone is on, but it’ll take a little while for Zoey to find it.”

  “What do we do in the meantime?”

  “Go home. I’ll let you know when we get anything.”

  “No way. I want to help.”

  “There’s nothing to do, Jenny. I promise I’ll tell you when there is.”

  She didn’t like it. But he was probably right. Until Zoey could figure out where Helen was, there was nothing any of them could do.

  Helpless. Again.

  This shit was for the birds.

  Chapter Eighteen: Claude

  His cell phone vibrated against his chest and Claude took it out of his inside jacket pocket. Treiste.

  “Yes?”

  “Your problem has been taken care of.”

  “Did you sedate her?”

  “I did. And she has been returned to her room. She must rest for a day or two, but she will be fine. I will check on her again tomorrow.”

  “Very good. And the other?”

  “The new test subject may work out. It is too soon to tell. I have made advances with each one and we are closer than we have ever been. It’s quite exciting.” That, Claude could hear in Treiste’s voice. He sounded almost like a small child.

  “When will I see your results?”

  “Give me a few days. I want to make sure it’s taken. There will not be much to see in these early stages, but as long as she remains strong, we should have good results.”
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  “Excellent. I look forward to seeing those results. Soon.”

  “Of course.”

  Claude clicked off the call. He had never particularly liked Treiste, but the German was the only one for this project.

  If this new test subject worked out, then Claude could move on to the next phase. The one for which he would need Carolyn Barron.

  He turned his attention back to the security film he’d paused. The image was grainy, but he zoomed in on the frozen frame.

  A long-shot of a residential hallway, looking through a house from the front door to the far end where the kitchen was. Several people stood in the frame. None of the faces were familiar, but he would have Salas rectify that. Well, none except one. And that one he recognized immediately.

  “What are you up to, Mecca?” he whispered.

  Chapter Nineteen: Mecca

  Mecca crammed a couple T-shirts into the top drawer of the oak dresser. Will had stayed downstairs to talk to Sara. Had he been right? Should she let all this go? Stay at the dorm, finish her schoolwork?

  She didn’t understand how he expected her to do that. These creatures were monsters who preyed on humans. Who’d preyed on her. How did he expect her to just let it go?

  She grabbed another handful of clothes from her duffel, not paying any attention to what went where.

  The doorbell rang below, and footsteps sounded along the wooden floor. She was only registering these sounds on the outskirts of her mind. She’d started thinking about how they would find other Visci to kill. And before her dad found them for Claude.

  The rage at her father simmered below the surface, like a surging tide trapped by a dam. She didn’t know how long the dam would hold.

  Voices filtered through from the hallway and a knock came at her mostly closed door. Will pushed it open.

  “Jenny’s here.” He stepped in enough to let her best friend through. “I’ll be downstairs.” When he left, he closed the door behind him.

  They stood, looking at each other, the awkward sitting in the air like humidity, heavy and thick.

  Jenny glanced at her duffel and the half-open drawer. “You moved out of the dorm.”